The Valley of the Shadow of Death
by PlaidButterfly
Summary: The Reapers are here - but so is Shepard. Can she and Luke Skywalker manage to save not one but two universes from destruction? Last in the 'Psalm Trilogy', sequel to 'Thy Rod and Staff'.
1. Chapter 1

The cloud of dust was sifting out of the air. The last rumble of the Crucible had come and gone. Luke Skywalker was aware of many things, but they were all fading away from him like sand being ripped from his fingers by a hot Tatooine wind. Everything was done. Everything was finished. Part of him was very ready to let it slip away.

The only thing that kept Luke's focus was the sound of a voice. A woman's voice. Distant yet perfectly clear.

_Luke._

He knew that voice in some innate way. Maybe through the soft rumbling vibrations that came to him before he was born. Maybe some knowledge passed by blood.

_Luke, you need to breathe._

His entire body was so achingly heavy. He had fought so hard, down to the very end. Shepard was a few feet away, he knew that much. It was so much easier to let it drift…

_You need to breathe, love. They need to hear you._

It took tremendous effort. He wasn't even quite fully aware of the fact he wasn't breathing until he tried to take in a breath. Every fiber of every muscle screamed at him - but the voice guided him on.

The voice of the stranger - the voice of his mother.

_They need to hear you. We'll meet soon, love. Soon enough._

The air was thick like syrup with dust and debris, and it came in wet with blood past his lips. Even as he dragged it in, it came out of him again in a half-screaming cough. Pain was enough to bring a certain clarity with it - and the voice was quickly fading.

_I'm so proud of you, Luke. So very proud…_

He opened his eyes, the slurry of tears and concrete dust making them stick together. A few shafts of light pierced through the rubble. There was a vague electrical snap - it took a titanic amount of effort to turn his head. Oh. His hand. Something had happened to the prosthetic and the synthflesh had been burned away…. and the wiring underneath was partially destroyed as well. A cut connection was snapping and sparking. He didn't realize what had happened to his other hand until he lifted his arm and pushed against the concrete trapping him. That only sent him a strong scream of pain and left a long smear of blood against the rubble. Apparently the same thing had happened to his hand that was still blood and flesh, and it was bleeding profusely, meat of his palm burned away to show tendon and gristle.

And beside him… beside him…

Luke could see the bright stripe on Shepard's armor. Her chest was still rising and falling, though just barely. He couldn't see her face, only a bit of her torso. That was enough. Each breath he managed to drag in hurt like fire, and brought more blood to his lips. The edges of his vision were going to black. A dull feeling of inevitability settled over him.

_They need to hear you…_

Voices in the far distance. It took him a moment to realize what they were. "Shepard! SHEPARD!" Yes, a search-and-rescue party. The others had survived the last push of the Reapers. That must have meant some measure of success. "SHEPARD!" Deep and reverberating - probably Garrus'. It was too easy to just close his eyes and let the shouts roll over him like the sound of crashing waves on a beach.

Another voice cut in, much closer. More melodic - definitely human. "SHEPARD! …SKYWALKER!" There was no closing his eyes now, not when someone was shouting his name. Kaidan Alenko? Yes, it had to be him.

"SHEPARD! …KID!" That was definitely Garrus, if someone was shouting out Shepard's nickname for him. "ANYONE?"

Very slowly, he curled his flesh-and-blood hand around the edge of a concrete slab laying over him. Suddenly it seemed as if there wasn't enough space to breathe, much less to shout, but Luke tested it - he wasn't getting it off alone. But he had to say something. His mother's words rattled around in his head, bounced around by agitated pain. And finally, he took a deep breath.

"HERE!"

He wasn't entirely sure the word was really recognizable, but it was something - a shout, a scream, an acknowledgement that he was there. Footsteps moving towards him at a run, scrambling on top of the rubble. Purple-blue flash of biotics. More shouting as others were called over. The concrete slab directly above him was lifted up, but already he was starting to lose the detail of the face to the dull glow and darkness.

"Hang on, Skywalker." Definitely Alenko. The other man reached out, grabbing his bloodied hand by the wrist. "Just hang on. Especially because there's no way you're dying on my watch, if I have to explain it to Shepard."

He had just enough energy to crack a weak smile at the joke. Maybe Alenko smiled back. Luke couldn't tell. The other man's voice became more distant and quietly distorted, as if hearing it through water. "Skywalker…? Luke - Luke -"

The silent dark took him.

* * *

And months earlier...

Shepard was screaming.

"Just - just hold on! I'm coming! I'm coming!"

Shepard could tell she was dreaming but it didn't make the dream any more pleasant. Her feet dragged as if she was wading through molasses. Her gun seemed to constantly need reloading after every single shot. There was no backup, and it was all left to her. The desperate panic pressed at the back of her neck, smothering and oppressive.

"Skywalker - SKYWALKER! Just hold on, Luke! HOLD ON!" She raised her voice to a scream, her voice going hoarse as she did. Sweat dripped down into her eyes, stinging and burning. Now she couldn't even hear the gentle buzz of a lightsaber, humming underneath the tempo of the gunfire.

She turned to see him. Youthful stature, sandy brown hair, plain black outfit. His weapon was still on his belt. The adversaries - Geth, Batarians, Collectors, Shepard couldn't even remember - weren't interested in shooting him. Instead he stood near the edge of the tall platform, toes of his boots just barely over the edge, shoulders relaxed as if he was about to take a dip into a calm lake instead of plunging into the same abyss that had claimed his father and the human Reaper. Slowly, he turned to face her.

Shepard screamed. She couldn't remember the words, but she screamed so loudly her throat hurt. Her shoulder ached with the familiar sharp sting of a bullet as she desperately dove forward, trying to claw her way over to him. But Skywalker simply smiled benevolently, full of all the kindness that Vader lacked. He was calm and serene. Even his blue eyes were smiling.

"Don't - don't! - Oh God, just wait, I'm coming, kiddo, just wait -"

He spread his arms out and fell backwards, eyes closing, as if he were a tired schoolboy celebrating a chance to sleep in. But there was only the darkness to greet him. The wind whipped around him and he was gone before Shepard even scrambled over to the edge. The only thing that remained was a long banner of black cloth, caught in the air; Shepard reached out to take it. A familiar scrap of cloth - it was the torn piece of cloak that Vader had always hidden behind. But now there was something wrapped in it. A single black leather glove. That damn single black glove that Luke constantly wore.

Her breath caught in her throat. The gunfire behind her was quiet now: it was all too quiet. Each gasp constricted into a half-sob. This wasn't supposed to happen. She had made a promise, but she had done all she could. She turned around to finally stare at the audience she was keenly aware she had now gained.

Shepard couldn't remember all the names, but she knew the faces. Leia, his sister. Han, his best friend. Innumerable more. An entire galaxy's worth. Every single one, staring her down. Shepard took a deep breath and started to say something, but it slipped out of her as a squeak. "I… I didn't…" Another deep breath. "I tried. I tried, I'm so sorry - I couldn't - I couldn't get to him soon enough…" She gulped, and they all continued staring at her accusingly. "I don't know why he jumped - I didn't think - I'm so sorry -"

And his sister simply stared at her, eyes cruel and accusing. She was so elegant compared to Shepard, and it suddenly made the commander feel as if she had reverted to being that awkward spacer kid, all red hair and freckles and knobby knees. Leia's lips parted to deliver what Shepard was sure would be a damning accusation -

_Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt._

And Shepard's eyes opened to her omnitool's alarm and the plain beige walls of her apartment. Her dress blues hung on the opposite wall, pressed and prim, ready for her trial. She had laid them out last night. It was a day where she could not afford to be unprepared. She also could not afford to be late, or to be upset, or to be anything less than impeccable. But instead Shepard rolled over, covering her face with her hands, on the verge of tears as the sunlight snuck into her window.


	2. Chapter 2

Shepard stood outside of the captain's cabin and stared at the lock before, with a sigh, opening it.

The cabin used to be Shepard's. Used to. Before she had been dragged to Vancouver and the Normandy invaded by Alliance techs. She didn't mind the exposed wires or the stripped-out panels. What did bother her was the fact that technicians had seemingly removed all traces of _her_. Stripping out her model ship collection just seemed petty. There hadn't even been time to change the traditional red paint on her N7 armor to the blue she preferred, but first they rushed to Mars, and then...

And then Kaidan.

Shepard ran a hand through her short red curls. Maybe in a few days it would stop seeming like such an intensely personal failure on her part, but right now her yoke of self-imposed guilt was so heavy it was hard to stand straight. In this room that had been home and wasn't any more, and was empty enough to be filled with recent memories of Earth burning and blood pouring from Kaidan's nose, it was easy to be lonely.

The console on her desk cheeped softly. She mentally kicked herself, unable to catch her tone and make it more steadfast instead of so damn tired. "Yes?"

"An update from Huerta Memorial, Commander. Major Alenko has come through surgery just fine."

"Thanks, Traynor." She could breathe, now. Just a little, but just enough. She could do this, she reminded herself in a weak mantra. She could do this. Kaidan wouldn't go down that easy. Garrus could hold his own on Palaven. But there was still someone she owed.

A few more keystrokes on the console, and it chirped again before Liara's voice, soothingly placid, floated up to her. "Yes, Shepard?"

"Hey." Now she successfully forced herself to be cheerful enough. "Liara, I need to call in some favors. Does my favourite Shadow Broker still have some contacts in Cerberus?"

"I've already chased down leads and know with some certainty where he is. Should I send the coordinates to Traynor in the CIC?"

"Yes, please. I owe you one, Liara. Well, several, actually, but... y'know."

A rare, soft laugh. "You can buy me a drink sometime, then we'll be even."

"You bet. Thanks again." A quiet click and the call was done. For a moment Shepard looked around the still and silent cabin before staring down the door. With exhaustion still hanging around her neck like a noose, the CIC seemed impossibly far away. The comm would be enough.

"Commander?" Even Joker sounded vaguely exhausted.

"Joker, Liara's sent Traynor our next op's location. Undock and get us there as soon as you can, and make sure we're running silent after the jump. We've got to pay Cerberus a visit."

"Yes, _ma'am_." His tone made her smile as she closed the connection. At least someone was confident – or very good at faking it.

And that left Shepard alone in her room – truly alone. Around her the soft sounds of the ship chirped and creaked like nightbirds and crickets after sunset. She sunk onto the bed and stared dully at the empty fishtank. The water burbled and ran in soft eddies, stirring the fake plants, and Shepard felt a dull pang of disappointment. Where had the Alliance even taken her fish, anyway? Not that it mattered. Not now. All of them were surely dead and buried in rubble, thanks to the Reapers.

The bed was much more rigid and unyielding than she remembered. No use trying to sleep. That demon of guilt would just jump up and down on her chest if she tried. There was, however, the familiar paint station in the corner for customizing her armor, and it was even full of the blue detail paint she favored.

Shepard got to work.

Dr. Marguerite Laurent didn't consider herself cruel. She just considered herself a realist.

The reality was that every civilization was self-interested, and humanity was damning itself with a spirit of cooperation. Humanity needed an advocate. And that advocate was Cerberus.

She never thought she would have to put her xeno-anthropology skills to such use, but Dr. Laurent didn't mind. If finding an entire new universe full of _homo sapiens sapiens_ didn't confirm humanity's destiny as galactic leaders, she wasn't sure what would. Perhaps she had been skeptical about the Illusive Man's insistance on cybernetic implants, especially since they were based on Reaper tech, but the calm that had flooded her mind afterwards left no room for doubt. Her orders were blissfully clear.

Dr. Laurent didn't hate the man, no, not at all. Luke Skywalker just had the unfortunate status of an aberration. He was a problem Dr. Laurent had been assigned to solve. He was resisting humanity's destiny with both body and soul, and that was simply unacceptable.

Two weeks ago, she caught herself being sympathetic enough to almost – almost! - ask her colleagues to stop their experimentation on him for the day. And she was proud she caught herself before she could. He was so clever at playing this game of empathy that Dr. Laurent wasn't sure he even knew he was playing, but his strategy was sound: make your captors identify with you, and soon they will no longer be your captors. Very sensible, very smart. But the Illusive Man wasn't paying her to be his friend.

Today it was business as usual. He certainly reacted interestingly to stress, and so her colleagues were stressing him. Two weeks ago his screams had made her stomach twist, but now Dr. Laurent simply smiled. Perhaps today he could find the epiphany that would let him accept Cerberus' glorious vision for humanity. She didn't even need to use the speakers – as he thrashed against his bonds, she could hear him clearly despite the thick glass window between them. One of her fellow scientists gave a dismissive murmur before flicking a switch. Luke Skywalker gasped, going limp, trying to clear his mind in the brief respite from pain. She saw his lips falter before finally catching on to his usual desperate chant. "Th-there is... no emotion... there is peace... n-no ignorance..." And it continued. A rather nice sentiment, Dr. Laurent thought. Shades of buddhism. The religious scholars would get to argue about it later, but quite frankly, it was old hat. He had chanted it since day one, and now she knew it as well as he did, and she could tap out the tempo of the words along with him.

"Up to three-thousand?" One of the technicians asked lazily, and another scientist nodded mutely. Before Skywalker could reach the final line of the mantra, the machinery whirred back into life, and he gave a desperate and raw scream. He thrashed, instinctive tears in his eyes, mouth moving uselessly in silent pleading. Two weeks ago, she would have been worried. She would have fussed at his vital signs and let anxiousness knot up in her stomach. This was the most pain they had put him through yet. But now she was hopeful.

He would be so beautiful broken and then remoulded into something greater by Cerberus.

Abruptly, his vital signs dropped, and now Dr. Laurent sat up a little straighter. They plummeted, but not significantly – instead back to the range of a calm and relaxed person at rest instead of someone undergoing torture. His shoulders went slack, and he stopped struggling against his bonds, hands curling and uncurling in loose fists. His chest heaved in long, calm breaths, and he let his head drop as he gave a morose laugh.

Then he began a new chant. "Peace..." His voice was a growl that Dr. Laurent hadn't heard before. "...is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion... I gain strength..."

"That's new," one of her colleagues grunted. "Laurent, you're our resident expert..."

"I'll go ask him about it," she murmured. It was new – different – interesting. Perhaps this would be the breakthrough he was needing to see Cerberus' wisdom.

The security door hissed as it opened to let Laurent through, but she could still clearly hear Skywalker's chanting. Was he pitching his voice a little lower? She wasn't sure. "Through strength, I gain power... through power, I gain victory..."

"That's an interesting mantra, Skywalker." Laurent kept her voice friendly and smiled at him with a false benevolence. Usually he responded well to this. He was eager to try and be her friend, to try and make her into an ally that would help him.

"Through victory, my chains... are broken."

"A very sound philosophy. I'm sure many in Cerberus would agree. Perhaps you can tell me a bit about it, Skywalker?" He said nothing, only panting. She could see the implants on the back of his neck, feeding into his spine, still making sure his body was wracked with pain – but now he didn't seem to even flinch. And he also didn't look up. She tried to bend down to catch his gaze.

"The Force shall free me."

Laurent frowned. "Skywalker?" Perhaps this called for something more familiar. "...Luke?"

Slowly, he raised his head, rolling to one side almost as if he were drunk. His eyes were closed even as his hair fell into his face, and the next pant he gave was half of a laugh. One side of his mouth tugged up in a grisly parody of a smile. And then his eyes opened. Laurent immediately recoiled in horror. She had seen something like it once, in the heathen ritual Asari were so proud of – embracing eternity, or something like it. His eyes had been covered in pitch black darkness. But there was something else – something chillingly human there as well. She had gotten used to his blue eyes. It was a nice shade. Reminded her of the sky over Port-au-Prince on a good day.

Now his eyes were flat black and a wreath of flame had replaced the gentle blue.

"So sorry," he growled, tone mocking. "I'm afraid Luke isn't here right now."

Marguerite Laurent didn't get a chance to think of a response. In the next instant the mixed shockwave of the Force and biotics slammed into her, shearing through her jaw, ripping out her spine like a handkerchief from a magician's sleeve. Her blood was painted on the opposite wall in a wide arc. And her eyes continued staring at Luke, even as it all became more and more horrible.


End file.
